


Hex-Mixed Mischief

by aceofclub



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Amity Blight Has a Crush on Luz Noceda, Beta Concept Art Amity Blight, Beta Concept Art Amity Blight/Beta Concept Art Luz Noceda, Beta Concept Art Luz Noceda, Beta Concept Art Willow Park, Bisexual Disaster Luz Noceda, Canon - Cartoon, Disney, Gay Disaster Amity Blight, I'm Bad At Tagging, Multi, The Owl House Beta Concept Art, i’m in math class and i should be paying attention but i’m not, ok i know i put a few questionable relationships in there but some are platonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28010871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofclub/pseuds/aceofclub
Summary: willow and gus are a tag team duo in crime. but, when the new human comes around, things change, for better or for worse...
Relationships: Amity Blight & Luz Noceda & Willow Park, Amity Blight & Luz Noceda & Willow Park & Gus Porter, Amity Blight/Luz Noceda, Boscha & Willow Park, Boscha/Willow Park, Edric Blight/Undisclosed, Emira Blight/Viney
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHH i’ve been waiting so long to send this out. i came up with this idea at work when i was thinking of a very specific fanart (the one where the betas are like “why are you in hell?”, i would credit but i’m not exactly sure who made it) and it just spiraled from there. i hope you enjoy!!

WILLOW I 

My heartbeat aligns with Warden Wrath’s footsteps, pacing obsessively from one cell to the next, keeping his slit-eyed mask tilted toward us. So much for no blood, no bone. I might not be getting out of this one. They considered my pager contraband and now I’m left with nothing but the chic outfit I came in. I watch the clock between the two center bars, tick, tock, as the minute hand races around in circles far outshadowed by the hour hand. It’s somewhere around five, and the tumult of footsteps is only beginning to grow, faster in pace, louder in nature, more in quantity. I race up to the bars, careful to hold onto them so I don’t get my head stuck in between, eager to see the next arrival. I’m not nervous, am I? He got away clean, unless…

Nope. Coast is clear. Although, the inmate-to-be does look quite familiar.

A strangled cry emits from the broken com above the clock, I have to cover my ears to shield myself from the cacophonic noise. I’d been here long enough to know what that meant--dinner bell.

AKA, the closest to perfect any escape could get.

We file one by one down the hallway to the cafeteria. Wonder what the main dish will be tonight--stale bread was a staple way back when, the appetizer to a less than appetizing meal and, from there it was a mixed bag. Mystery mush made of unidentifiable vegetables and grade B meat. Half baked angus patties with a strip of swiss cheese laid lazily across the top, and if we were extra good that week, maybe a pickle or two. Nachos with far too much salt in them, and complimentary beef with far too much spice, liquid cheese in a little divot to the side of the tray. All possibilities, not one of them palatable. That’s fine. I’d rather starve than be stuck in here for even a day longer. We reach the line, grab our trays, only to find that mine has a massive crack in the side. Always serving their best, Bonesborough. I could thank Belos for that. But, of course I’ve kept you waiting for far too long now.

What’s for dinner? Italian. Specifically, noodles fresh out of the box with some tomato graze over the top.

The least they could do is make it look appetizing. When the lady dumps it on my tray, it looks like a bird picked up some sticks on the side of the road and made itself a nice nest with maybe a rose or two on top. And they pay for this stuff? To serve? Nevertheless, I come to the register and swipe my newly distributed badge through the little slit in the box, and when I’m given the thumbs up, I find a table, preferably vacated. It was more of a tracking thing, the badges, not some payment. Our duties were fit for the trade instead. Hours of backbreaking work in the boiling rain, ever so uncertain under the thin lining of ozone roofing us in. Scrubbing toilets after a guard had too much to eat. Overall, not worth it at all.

I don’t recommend getting caught. But, each to their own. If that’s what anyone is into, by all means, hop in and take my place. I’ve got more work to do, anyways.

The cafeteria is surprisingly massive, considering how small the population of the Isles is. Occasionally, we get visitors from the human realm, but not nearly enough to fill this place. From the ceiling hangs a few loose chandeliers, dangling from a few rusty chain links that haven’t been changed in a good ten years. The gargoyles that hold the candles look like they’ve been made in first grade hands, but at the very least, it does get the job done well. Anything that hideous would scare any spirit right back down to Hell. The wick is barely even attached, frayed thin from excess lighting and extinguishing and relighting. If that wasn’t threatening enough, the ceiling creaks and groans in all the wrong spaces, just a moan away from collapsing and caving us in. Everything else reminds me of high school, almost--open windows with a clear view of a chain-linked fence, hexed with demagnification glyphs to ensure that our chances of using our mischievous gifts are little to none. Cafeteria tables with names and faces practically branded into them, a throne room for the cliques leaders and a slaughterhouse for those below the plastic standard. Guards pacing the room with readied batons, readily keeping a close eye on everyone, ready to jump out at any slight disruption of peace. And, who could forget, the shitty food on the cracked, low budget tray, unidentifiable by anything but taste.

I swallow my pride enough to bring my plastic fork closer to the dry noodles. The smell alone is enough to make me gag, stale air and rotten tomatoes. Nevertheless I pull a few from the swamp of tomato sauce and prepare enough water in my free hand to chase it down. Take me back to the days when I was eating real food…

Something abrupt disrupts the silence. I hear it first, a flash bang of white noise washing over the kitchen, bouncing off the walls back into my ears by the echo of the room. Then I see it. Or, rather, I don’t. I don’t recall a cloud coming in to dine with us. But everything that was in front of me is now gone, lost to the fog. I practically feel my blood pressure starting to rise. Somewhere over the yelling Warden Wrath is trying to compose us back to normalcy, but he stops as he sees that his attempts are falling in vain. In the years I’ve been in this business, anything with fog and loud noises meant bad news.

“Hey! Flower boy is here!” I feel my stomach twist, until I recognize the voice. Gus. The fog starts to fall away, ever so slowly, only to find him running straight towards me, Wrath close on his tail, unmasked and unhinged. “Sorry, Warden, sir. I gotta pick up my order. You know I’ve always been about 100% perfect showmanship.” I feel Gus’s hand fall on mine, a lazy grasp turning to a tight grip, and I can barely keep up as my heels dig into the tile behind us. Wrath’s arms are open, ready to grab us both into a bear hug and lock us both up. I ready my hand to cast--only to find the tattooed glyph on my wrist.

Hah, demagnetizing spell. I can’t do magic.

But Gus can.

“Hey, don’t worry! I’ll keep the census steady. Maybe I’ll even throw in a plus one.” And with that, he flicks his wrist, commanding a picturesque replica of the two of us for the warden to chase. We bolt to the door.

“Took you long enough.” I’m being snarky, maybe a little too early. After all, he did just break into here to get me out. And we’re still not out of the woods yet. 

“Remind me, Willow, do we always plan on making pit stops?” The alarms kick in, and now the guards are steady on our heels. Luckily, Warden still thinks we’re running high and dry in the cafeteria. The reality is, we’re nearing the exit.

“I could always use some hospitality to get us by.” Gus just smirks, until the roar of the Warden tears through the empty air. They’ll outrun us if we try to jump the fence. After all, they’ve got wheels and we’ve got…

Wheels. Almost simultaneously, we nod to each other and bolt for the cargo wagon.

“Stop them! That wagon costs too many snails to lose!” Gus tosses me the keys, and we settle in the cockpit.

“Sure you don’t want me to drive, plant girl?”I drive the keys into the keyhole and turn up the ignition. The speedometer catches my attention, reaching tops of almost 200 miles an hour. Perfect.

I chuckle. “Please, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.” And with that, I hit the gas and we bolt out of there.

~  
~  
~ 

“Sixty four, sixty five, sixty six, sixty seven, six-sixty eight hundred! And, a getaway vehicle.” Gus tallies off the value in the artifacts, enough to hold us over for a good while. I recline on the couch, grateful to have one at my back.

For some odd reason, I’ve always loved Gus’s house. It contrasted the conformitorium, quite sharply. The ceiling was stable, and only ever creaked in the middle of a thunderstorm. The walls were thick and supportive enough to call HQ, at least until we move out of Hexside and into the real world, made of tender brick and effort. And, although Gus had made the gargoyles on the chandelier as a first grader, it doesn’t look like it could scare off a group of kids. Maybe that’s why his dad actually kept it.

I turn my attention to Gus, who’s counting off values on his tiny scroll. Well, tiny in comparison to his hands. Over the years I’d watched him have quite the growth spurt somewhere in middle school, although the scroll is still the same as it was when he was our little shorty. He grew out his hair as well, trading his traditional undercut and side buzz for dreadlocks, just long enough to encompass in a bundle on the back of his head with a hair tie. Although, he did keep part of the undercut below the dreads. He’s even developed a little bit of scruff around his jawbone cut off with a clean shave. Unlike me, his family is obsessed with all things picturesque, so he’s always working to make one thing or another looking sharp, usually almost in a collar with flared out shoulders and slacks. But today, he’s traded that out for a Hexside sweatshirt, grey to match the black and white flannel draped over it. And, instead of slacks, he’s just wearing his joggers today. He at least had enough sense to dress breathable for the prison break. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be critiquing his sense. After all, I was the braun of the duo. And he was the brains.

“How are we splitting it?” As with every heist, we’d agreed to take our equal share out of the profits. It was the partnership package deal--you lose some money but you get a badass crew member and getting away with stuff is just that much easier. Plus, Gus and I are practically siblings at this rate. We cover each other, we do dumb shit and we roll together. And I don’t think I’d have it any other way, even if I could get all sixty eight hundred snails worth. “Half and half, again?”

“Two thirds to one” He says nonchalantly, not looking up from his mass of paper. I sit up abruptly from the lying angle on the couch, letting the blood rush to my head.

“What? I helped you get it! Wasn’t that part of our deal?”

“I helped you get out of prison.” He shrugs suggestively and I roll my eyes. I knew he’d play that card. Luckily, I’m not the only one who’s ever been caught in the action.

“Remind me, how many times have you been caught?” I sneer it out. His expression doesn’t change.

“Twice. How many times have I bailed you out again?” Always one-upping me. I sigh.

“Fine. What do we do with the wagon?”

“Sell it? Not like we’re gonna do much with it anyways. Plus, if they notice a prison vehicle out of the gates, they’re gonna find it suspicious.” I wasn’t much of a driver, but this was a piece of work. We could always use a getaway vehicle in the future.

“Yeah? But if the prison vehicle is at the site of the heist, they’re gonna assume the police have everything under control. We could make it that much easier.” He takes this in for a moment, obviously considering keeping it if it’s of value and a cheap getaway tactic.

“They can track the plates.”

“So? We’ll just deform ours. Not like they’re looking anyway.”

“You know what? Fine. You got the lower end of the money cut and got put in prison. The least I can do is consider it.” I smirk.

“Ah. Do I smell an Augustus Porter redemption arc? Look at you, being all assertive.”

“Keep it up and I’ll change my mind. Assertivity is my nature, Park.” I snicker, gauging his reaction. Normally he hates it when I tease him, but from over his shoulder, he’s smiling too. He meets my eyes and we both bust out laughing, his figure sprawled out against the carpet, mine sprawled out against the couch. We were lucky today. I may have been caught, but we’re both alive and rolling well. And it’s just the two of us, chosen brother and sister, laughing on the floor about breaking the law like we’re exempt and invincible from the world, free to care less, even if it makes us a little careless. I wouldn’t change a thing for the better.

“I figured out how to fix the glyph without going to the healer’s office.” At this, I roll up my sleeve to find the demagnification glyph still glowing and wide awake. I still can’t cast.

“Ok, Porter. Show me what you’ve got.” I hop off the couch and onto the floor, and he examines my wrist. His hands hover above the glyph, ready to seize it.

“Hold still.” With one flick of the wrist, a replica of me shows up next to him, kneeling on one knee, a clean, empty wrist exposed. Returning to my wrist, he traces the outline of the glyph, first the circle encompassing the symbol, then the four diagonal lines intercepted by a much smaller circle, finishing it off with a light tap on the dot in the middle. Normally, we’d have to bribe the healer into removing the curse, with the majority of our profits from the past heist. But, almost effortlessly, like I’d seen them do countless times, the glyph tattoo begins to rise off of my skin. He cradles it with his hands, levitating above his palms, and with one swift motion, he transfers it to the replica. Since he’s using an illusion to transfer it, it won’t affect either of us, as he could just snap his finger and my clone would disappear into thin air, taking the curse with it. I gawk. Genius. The glyph settles on her wrist,and her pupils begin to dilate and contract, rendering her unable to perform spells on her own. Then again, she is an illusion. There’s not much free will that she has to start. And with his dismissal, she’s gone.

I pull out a seed from my pocket, a featherbender seed like the ones you’d see in the woods, and draw out a halo above it. At my simple command, it sprouts, not enough to cave the house, but enough to make something of it. I smile. Willow’s back in business, bitches.

“Nice. Where’d you learn that trick?” I ask.  
“Well,” Gus goes over to our heap from the heist, “I still haven’t figured out how to remove glyphs, but I did know how to transfer them. I figured it’d work on illusions if I tried it.”

“Huh. Innovative. Say, how'd you even know where I was in the first place?”

“You didn’t get to the rendezvous point at our scheduled time. That, and your pager was on.” Gus hands me my fair share of the snails, and…

Oh. Oh fuck. The pager.

“Hey, Park, you alright? Did I mess up the glyph transfer? Maybe I counted something wrong?” I place my hand on his shoulder in a panicked manner.

“The pager, Gus. They took it as contraband.” He runs a hand through his hair, though he seems unbothered by it.

“Ok? We can just pick up a new set. No biggie. Plus, we’ve got the money to afford it.”

“Gus, I left it on. How else were you supposed to find me? And if mine’s still on…” He grasps what I’m trying to say, and feel the energy in the room start to drop to dread. His expression is serious now.  
“So? I can just get rid of mine. They can’t track our signal if mine’s destroyed.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. We could easily do that right here, right now. But, if Blight finds mine, we’re in deep shit.”


	2. amity I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fire.   
>  It’s the only element a scientist can never figure out. Fueled by solids, fluid as liquid, free like gas. It’s an entity entirely of its own, moving as it wills, dancing on the surface of the stars. If you ask the experts, they’ll tell you that it’s a gas or mostly gas, with a few perks. But the reality is, they don’t have a very good answer to that.  
>  Fire’s set aside from the norm, the variable in the coordinates, a world that only it knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! A few things:   
> School is finally beginning to calm down a little bit, so I’ll be updating fairly regularly.   
> I have concept art for my Beta Gus design. I’ve seen other authors post theirs but i have no clue how to upload pictures onto the site, plus i’m working entirely on my phone when it comes to posting updates (I write on my school chromebook but the school has AO3 blocked). If someone could let me know how to do so, that would be fantastic. For now, if you want to check it out, it’s on my instagram page (@Holla.bread) under the first update of this fic. (please excuse my horrendous drawing skills, I tried my best)  
> I need ideas for other potential beta designs (edric, emira, etc) because they will most likely be included in this story as well.   
> Please please PLEASE give me feedback!!! I want to make this as fun as possible and letting me know what’s working and what’s not will play a huge role in this.   
> This chapter might be a bit intense for some viewers Skip to the end notes for a summary if you:  
> Can’t do abusive pasts  
> Can’t do ableism  
> Thank you very much for reading. I hope you enjoy!

Fire. 

It’s the only element a scientist can never figure out. Fueled by solids, fluid as liquid, free like gas. It’s an entity entirely of its own, moving as it wills, dancing on the surface of the stars. If you ask the experts, they’ll tell you that it’s a gas or mostly gas, with a few perks. But the reality is, they don’t have a very good answer to that.

Fire’s set aside from the norm, the variable in the coordinates, a world that only it knows.

I take one last good look at myself in the mirror, only to find my mascara running and the green dye slowly dripping off of my fingertips. It was one of those nights, I’d know. Blights were orderly. Blights were coordinated. And, any loose pegs standing out was to be kicked back into place, circle into square, edges cut perfectly from the mold, disregard the pieces left behind. My hair was naturally brown, Mom didn’t seem to think so. 

Well, I did mention fire was a being of its own. And I must say, I’m quite the fan. 

I wipe my eyes with the inside of my forearm, letting the smudge marks collect on my uniform, rubbing them dry until there’s no more makeup left to take off. Satisfied with how much I’d just ruined my right sleeve, I bring my hands, still dripping with seasick green shades, to my stomach, making sure I smear all of it into my clothes and leave a nasty stain. It takes practically all my strength to stop myself from crying, feeling my shoulders heave and my legs fill with lead. If Ed and Em were home tonight, maybe this would be a million times easier to do. My hands are shaking as I dig into my pocket and pull out the box of matches. If this was any other day, I’d cast with my hands and we’d be done with this that much faster. But I’m alone and afraid and far, far too frazzled to pull off a move that requires such focus. It wasn’t because I was weak, I was top of my class, just as was expected of me. 

I don’t think I’m feeling all that traditional tonight, though. 

I hover over the box. I want to light it, get this all over with. I’m not ready to dig in, not yet. This moment could be devoured in seconds, but it wouldn’t earn the same kind of glory it deserves if I treated it as such. This is a delicacy, delicate to the touch, and I want to splay it all out against the wall and savor every last drop. So I set down the box and decided to take one last Tour-de-Blight before I go. 

The walls of the manor are far outdone and overdue for a paint job. Dad’s been so busy at the Conformitorium that it seems he’s forgotten to furnish his own quarters. There’s still cracks from the last one. The stairs creak and groan with every step I take, cedar wood polished smooth and yet still so hideous. It envelops around the hallway, a chandelier of golden gargoyles hanging from the ceiling, dangerously close to the railing, ready to fall if one of us got brave enough to touch it. Hah. I hate this place, so out of pace. The descendance stops and I stand at the door, massive and brooding, the mahogany just as intimidating despite any angle you’d look at it. You’d expect that such a proper manor would be perfect on the inside as well, not so, not so. The halls are haunted with memories, the sweeter ones where Ed and Em would practice Grudgby in the backyard with me, sweat soaked walking through the house for something to drink, and the sour ones, hours spent drilling things over again and again until everything was perfect and I was exhausted. It’s almost hard for me to believe that I’d grown up here at all, because even the most familiar parts, the living room with the burgundy couch and the shitty carpet, the kitchen with the spits of gold, always smelling bittersweet, even all of this felt so foreign to me. I spent the vast majority of time in my room, where I could control the variables and grow comfortably on my own, where my hair could be brown and I could be friends with whoever I wanted, where I found peace. 

Ok, now I’m getting sappy. I can’t let the tears dampen what I’m about to do. 

I run back up the stairs, ever so unstable as I dance on the edges with the balls of my feet. In my room, it’s strangely serene, the calm before the storm, Lilith swinging in the wind as the poster moves with every gust, the pictures turned backwards threatening to tip over, the warmth leaving through the open window. Good. They’ll never see it coming. I pick up the matchbox I left on the nightstand, pull out my scroll for the perfect song to darken this moment…only to be greeted by an ad. Thanks a lot, Tibbles. Not like I’m going to buy into your shitty business. At last, it ends and I’m consumed by the brief seconds of silence before the song starts. 

“You think I like to play the victim, say it’s clear in how I speak. Like it’s some kind of competition, of who hurts the most of you and me.”

I strike the match, letting the tip envelop in screaming flame, tender and quiet on its perch as I stare at it for a comical amount of time. What a shame, what a shame I was never taught not to play with fire. Mom and Dad should’ve known better than to let me keep the spare box in my dresser. And even as it hurt down to the touch, it felt warm to me, warmer than what this house should be. Although, in a few minutes, I think it’ll catch up just fine. 

“What if for once you try to listen? You know it’s really not that deep. Or carry on with the partition, but drown your dignity in the sea.”

My hands fumble and the match dances between my fingertips before it falls out of my hands. Whoops, I dropped it. I’m sure it was just an accident, in any case. No one could ever imagine the top student screw up on purpose. 

“So leave me here abandoned and stranded, as if that’s gonna do.”

It bounces off the floor, the seconds seemingly slowing down as the adrenaline rushes to the tips of my ears. At its touch, the ground is commended into flames, slowly stretching out across the carpet, moving onto the bed, ripping apart the emperor’s coven poster on the wall. Guess this is goodbye. The house didn’t deserve to take the punishment, but it’s the least that I can do. There’s more merciless acts I could think of, but this one’s fitting enough. They didn’t shelter me from the clouds billowing on the ceiling. So, I’m taking theirs with me. I start to run, avoiding the burn as the slow creaks of the stairs guide me back to the door.

“Yeah, leave me empty handed in Band-aids, the best that you can do.”

Luckily, Ed and Em are off to college. They won’t have to worry about what I do here. I’d be selfish not to consider them, they felt more like parents to me. I feel the door on my way out and it’s warm, scathing warm, dangerously warm. That match was doing its job, almost perfectly. I hum along to the lyrics as I barrel out of the house, leaving just in time to miss the blaring of the alarms.

“Just set it all on fire and burn down this room, strip my being to the wire and I’ll learn to carry it through.” 

Fire. The only element that’s a world of its own, not defined by laws of physics or chemistry. Still a mystery to scientists, the diamond that just won’t seem to crack. Today, I’ve created a fire of my own. I smirk.

“But in any kind of way, I’ll make it clear to you, I’m not leaving quiet, so baby, burn down this room.”

~

~

~

“Mittens?” I roll my eyes. Fifteen years and I still haven’t grown out of that nickname. I take a deep breath and put my impression skills to the test. 

“Ed? Ye-yeah. Something h-happened to the house. I-I don’t know what to do.” On the contrary, at least for now. The Conformitorium wouldn’t be an ideal place to go, but I knew the guards quite well and I have my connections. That, and they can’t arrest me for arson when I’m already at the prison. 

“What do you mean, ‘something happened to the house’? Are you okay?” I struggle to hide a snort. No, Ed, I died in the fire and this is my ghost speaking to you. 

“Yeah, I’m okay, but the house is in shambles. Fuck, it all happened so fast.” I fake a sniffle for sympathy. 

“Ok, so how did that happen?” Even over the phone I can sense real concern. At least I know he cares. 

“Fire.” I hear an exasperated sigh on the other end of the line. 

“Shit. I think I left a college textbook under my bed or something. You should try warning me next time you do this type of stuff.” Immediately, I feel myself choke on my own spit. Sure wasn’t ready for that. There’s silence on the other end, then a burst of laughter. “You really think I didn’t know, Mittens?” 

“Was I really that obvious?” I find that I was so enraptured in my little act that I’ve been walking in circles for the past five minutes. Heading nowhere to nowhere. 

“Come on. I’ve practically been placing bets with Em on how long you’d take to snap. Which reminds me, she owes me five snails. But ever since you learned the fire spell, I knew it would only come down to a matter of time.” I realign my path towards the Conformitorium, just a mile away from the city square. By now, the city officials have definitely caught wind onto what happened, so I’m running out of time.

“And you didn’t try to stop me?”

“Nope. You know I hated that house as much as you did. Seems only fair Mom and Dad got a taste of their own medicine. But, what’s in it for you now?”

“Not sure. Taking a pit stop at the Conformitorium right now. From there, who knows.” 

“If you need a place to stay, you can crash at my dorm. Although, the university isn’t particularly fond of pets.” Again, I find myself rolling my eyes. Classic Edric. But, I’m smiling too.

“Oh, shut up.” I hear him snicker.

“Promise you’ll at least consider it?”

“Do I have much of a choice?” 

“No. I’ll let you go do whatever you’re doing. Don’t know why you’d go to a prison after committing arson, but you do you, Mittens. Let me know when you make up your mind.”

“You can hang up, now.” And with that, he’s gone. I let out a drawn out sigh. Brotherly love. What a treasure. 

I arrive at the gates, finally. For a Saturday afternoon, things are moving considerably slow, no one’s at the gates to greet me as I swipe Dad’s card and stow away inside. That’s probably not smart, just an FYI. Not my circus, not my monkeys, though. They can do whatever they want. Other than that, almost everything is the same as it’s always been, razor wire fence hexed with demagnification glyphs, making an escape attempt practically impossible unless you learn how to use your hands. The building is even moated, an expanse of water infested with all sorts of creatures from razorfins to pookas. I never understood why you’d need such high security for the lowest of crimes, but I’m not complaining. It’s one more thing they have to breach to find me. On the interior, the working office at the door is just a ring in away from the rest of the building, the bustle of the cafeteria not too far from it. But today, it’s quieter than usual for dinner hours. I peek in to see a furious warden Wrath surrounded by a multitude of his guards, heads huddled in conjunction with one another. Something’s wrong. Nevertheless, I sneak back into the Demagnifier’s office. It’s quaint and quiet, but in reality, he’s the one who does quite a bit of the work around here. Without him, we’d have escapes every other day. I wave to him on my way in. 

“Amity! How are you? You don’t visit as often as you used to.” I sigh. 

“Yeah, I know. School’s been busy. Other than that, I’m ok. What are you up to?” He gestures to a bag of fresh contraband and I struggle to identify what’s in it. 

“Demagnifying contraband, again. I don’t know what that’s going to do, anyway. This looks more like a piece of human technology.” I immediately perk up. It’s rare that we ever have a human resident come by. 

“Human?” 

“Yeah. Although, it still needs magic to work. Weird.” I waggle my eyebrows and he shrugs, both wondering what it could be. He hands the gadget to me, allowing me to take a pick at it. I study it as we keep talking.

“Any new residents today?” 

“Three. Well, no, technically one. The other two made a getaway. They must’ve been working together.” 

“Ouch. Is that why Wrath is in such a fuss today?” 

“Indeed. Not that I mind. We still got their stuff.” He motions to my hands, still cradling the piece of technology. And just like that, I’m back to studying it. 

It’s almost archaic. Not a signal any tracking spell could pick up. I’m no technology dork, so I’d never know how it worked, but as soon as I tap on the small screen, a map of Bonesborough unravels across it. Somewhere in the Conformitorium there’s a red dot. I safely assume it’s my trajectory. And like point A and point B, a blue dot lights up on the other side of the city square, someone’s house. 

“Find anything strange yet?” 

“No. It looks like a tracker, though. Off brand version of Boogle maps.” He sighs, drawn out with the cool air in the room.

“Ah, that’s how they found each other. Good thing we kept it as contraband. They probably don’t even know it’s gone. Give that to the Warden, tell him what we found. We’ll get ‘em back here in no time.” 

And that’s what I do. I step out of the office and into the cafeteria, handing him the gadget. Tracing my fingers alongside the bottom, I find something engraved into the surface. Letters. A name. My face goes pale as he takes it.

“Thank you, Amity. We’ll have our ‘flower girl’ back here in no time.” I struggle to nod, realizing the magnitude of what I just did. 

Willow. It’s Willow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes:  
>  Basically, Amity burns down the manor and heads to the conformitorium, where she finds something she probably shouldn’t. She hands it to the warden only to realize seconds later that it was Willow’s pager. 
> 
> The song I used in this is NOT MINE. It’s “burn down this room” by Ruben. I thought it fit quite well.


	3. Gus I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gus goes to the night market, runs into someone on his way home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Happy holidays! I hope you enjoy the festivities! I had a bit of time to work on a scene (i deleted it out because I didn’t have the space) that I might release if I get enough requests (as a little christmas gift). Enjoy

“...and did you see his face? Hah, that was the best part! He was like ‘damn you, lady!’” My vision is spotty and I’m stumbling with Willow leaning into my shoulder as we walk. Her house isn’t far, just a few blocks down the road and past the school, but under half-drunk skies and loopy clouds, it feels like an eternity. Not that I mind. 

“Remind me, why did we decide playing a few rounds after getting thrown in jail was a good idea?” Willow snorts, and in my own haze it sounds too funny not to laugh. 

“Because it’s fun. You got to live a little once in a while, Porter.” 

“We just committed a federal offense! Belos will have our heads if he finds out what we’ve done. I think that’s living enough.” I nearly trip, bringing Willow to the ground with me. There’s a bit of dirt on her cheek from where she landed, and she’s laughing uncontrollably. I offer my hand but it’s in vain, she doesn’t want to get up. 

“We do that all the time. No biggie. What’s the fun in that?” I sigh. And to think Willow was normally the one biting off her fingernails before our every heist. I pull her back onto my shoulders from the grassy floor, although she’s trying to slink out of my arms and back into the dirt. I’d have to wipe her clean of the evidence before we’d entered the Park house, but I’d earned enough trust from her dads for them to know I’d never put her in harm’s way. Even if we were both a little tipsy. She looks up at me with a disappointed look. “Where are we going?”

“Home. Your house, specifically. You’re gonna have a hell of a hangover if you don’t get some water and sleep in your system. It’s called ‘self care’.” If this was any bit of self care, we wouldn’t have played in the first place. We wouldn’t be going on heists or doing our dirty work down in Bonesborough. But it’s rare that we ever have a moment to ourselves outside of the calamities of our busy lives, and we don’t mind staining our shoes a little bit to have fun. 

“But the grass is comfortable! I could sleep just fine on that.” 

“Come on. I don’t think your dads would like to hear ‘ooh, sorry Mr. Park, sirs, we got a little drunk and decided to play a game. Also, your daughter just came fresh out of the conformitorium. No big deal.’ Don’t you think?” 

“They’d think it’s coooool.” My face drops, no matter how hard I try to hide it. No, Willow, that’s illegal. They’d kill us both. I eye the grass and smirk. If I can’t convince her to stay out of the grass, I’ll have to negotiate.

“Alright, alright, Park, let’s make a deal. You can take a bit of grass to sleep with, but I’m taking you home. I’ve got a busy night ahead of me for the both of us.” She lets out a shrill shriek of joy, falling from my limp shoulder and onto the ground, grabbing fistfulls of the green tufts. 

“Grass party at my house!” I sigh. This would be a long night.   
~

~

~

The alarm clamps down on my wrist and I struggle not to yelp in pain. With a flick of my wrist, it quiets down, back to its lifeless position, and I step out of bed slowly. My head throbs as I sit up, a testament to the misdoings from a few hours ago. At the very least, I was somewhat sober, so business wouldn’t be any different if I could flush it out a bit. A snore startles me from across the hall, signaling that my father’s lost in a good night’s sleep.I’m back home and it’s night market time. Perfect. I grab the cloak I had set up on the door handle, leaving the hanger swinging, and the lantern I left on my nightstand. If I was right, I’d be making bank before sunrise, putting the both of us one step higher above the rest. And my numbers don’t miss. I grab the sack of our latest goods and shut the door tightly behind me. 

The walk down to the night market is long and winding, brimming with darkness outside of the parameters of the lantern. I could easily misstep and break something, so I take extra caution in monitoring the ground, scanning for any stray rocks or twigs. On the same token, I had to watch what was in front of me to avoid bumping into someone or something, I don’t know why the city didn’t think to install lights in this part of time; they know how alive and teeming the night market usually is, even for a few hours so late.

Eventually, I’m greeted by the tar black letters on the worn out banner hanging over the city, the entrance to the shitshow. Fortunately, I’ve arrived a little early, so I have time to set up where I’d like before the bigger sales take my favorite spots. If the booth was in front of something flashy, I’d have all eyes on me, and that meant more sales. I set up shop in front of Hexside High, teeming with the low-budget lighting set up by student council for the guests tonight. The rest of the city square is lit up by the salesmen, varying from loosely strung icicle lights to movie theater signs with giant bulbs sticking out. The ambitious ones have their names written out, but most of us agree to stay anonymous. Sometimes, the night market can be a little shady, so we run under the same code: I won’t tell if you don’t. 

Slowly the city creeps back to life with witches and demons alike, pockets stuffed to the brim, ready for a deal. Some negotiations sound like they’re going smoothly, some are heated and intense. I watch the drama unfold from my little perch, waiting for the moment those negotiations come to me. For a saturday, though, it seems a little tamer than usual. Good. I can fly under the radar easier. The seconds speed by as I feel myself falling asleep, lurching back to my feet once I sense myself losing my thoughts again. 

“Careful, you don’t want someone behind the booth while you’re dozing off.” I feel myself jolt to life at the sound of someone’s voice, looking frantically through my little window to find its origin. Eventually, my eyes settle on him, tired eyes and brown sleeves, trademark to the Construction coven. Mattholomule. He smirks once my eyes land on him, an evil smirk, and I roll my eyes. “Morning, Gus.” 

“Matt. What do you want?” Annoying as ever, Matt was head troublemaker in town, second to no one, not even me and Willow. He’d set up his own gang a while back and business has been booming ever since. I could only assume he’s up to no good. 

“I just wanted to stop by, say hi, see what kind of new toys you’re selling. What’s in that little baggie of yours? Some new gadgets? Maybe your hotwheel collection?”I stifle a growl. God, this kid is unbearable! I tighten my hold over the opening of the sack. 

“None of your business, unless you’re willing to make a trade. You really don’t have anything better to do?” He snorts, astounded at my response. 

“No. I came for the drama too.” He leans close to me, and despite my attempts to stay back, he grabs my shoulders and pulls me towards him. “Heard a rumor from Boscha. You and your friend had a cute little caper at the Conformitorium this afternoon, eh?” My blood runs cold. Word of our--Willow’s--escape was already spreading around town? Someone here could easily hand me in and make ransom for her. Worse, someone could tell Dad. I shove him off of me, feeling the brief shock of adrenaline and anger wash over me. 

“Bullshit. You’re wanted all over town, remember? I’ll out your ass if you keep spreading rumors.” His face goes slack with shock, then he starts laughing, a maniacal, shrew laugh as he pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. 

“Oh, please. I’m not going to say anything. I knew you’d pull that little gambit on me. Besides, we don’t mind the competition.” He leans on the balls of his feet, crossing his arms in a defensive manner, guarding his chest from any phantom blows. He came ready, knowing damn well I’d lose it and fall for that little trick. No coming back from that. “You and half-a-witch seem to have it pretty good, though. If you two didn’t keep getting caught in the action, maybe you’d actually stand a chance against the Sparrows.” I could punch him right now, if I really wanted to. His face is flat and almost exactly shaped like a wooden board, ready for the breaking. If I could just-

Nope. Nope. Can’t do that. 

“ I did the math, Matt. Me and ‘half-a-witch’ were actually quite successful today.” I point to the sack of trinkets, which now shies away below the counter on my side. “This has been our biggest heist yet.” At that, he feels around his pockets, to pull out a hefty amount of snails. 

“That’s cute. But this?” He tosses one of his snails in the air, catching it with his free hand. “This came from the bank today. Not my note, of course, but it was practically calling my name once I got there. Maybe we can work something out.” 

“Fine. How much?” 

“I don’t know. We’re supposed to be rivals, but considering that your best friend got thrown in jail, I think I’m feeling a little generous tonight.” He smirks, egging me on. He’s not going to let that go anytime soon. “Consider it an investment in your success. A commitment to our little rivalry, from one gang to another.” I roll my eyes as he dances around our negotiation. “I have--I dunno, two, three, ten thousand?--snails.” 

“I’ve got at least sixty eight hundred worth in this sack. Take your pick.” I toss the sack towards him, and he eagerly digs through it to find anything of value. Theoretically, he’s the last person I should be trusting with a heist’s worth of equipment. But, even the night market has standards. Not everyone does, considering the fight that’s just broken out to the left of me, over potions with long and complicated names, but us frequenters know what happens if you play dirty. He pulls the items out one by one--an oracle ball with a golden base, a leash capable of latching onto a griffin, made of studded silver and soft wire, the cape and mask of an emperor’s guard. 

“Who’s actually gonna use this?” He holds up the crystal ball mockingly, laughing even as the base shakes in his unsteady hands. And like magic, it slips out of his reach, onto the cobblestone floor, shattered just like that. 

“You, apparently. You break it, you buy it.” At this, his face drops as he struggles to pick the base out from the broken pieces. 

“Fair. I could use this, though.” He picks up the collar, letting the rope dangle about below the counter. I struggle to hide my grimace, knowing damn well that it’s definitely caked in mud. 

“Sure you don’t want the other stuff?” I motion to the mask and cape, and he shakes his head. “Could be a sweet disguise, you know.” 

“Don’t give me any ideas, Porter. I’ll pay you half.” Over the counter, he slips thirty four hundred worth of snails, much to my shock. “I’m also investing in your little caper business, remember?” I smirk. 

“Won’t say no to a deal like that. It’s yours.” I scoop the snails in my hand, cupping them in my palms, resisting erratic movements to save those that fall to the ground, and he takes the collar and what’s left of the crystal ball. Good. At least now he’ll go away. As he turns to leave, he throws me a look over his shoulder. 

“Stay classy, Porter.” I hear him snicker at that little comment, and once more I hold back the urge to do some damage. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I got quite the buck for my bang. That’s all I needed. 

The rest of the night moves pretty quickly, almost all a blur before the morning bell rings and I pack up. Sales move in and out, people passing with loaded totes and greedy salesmen jumping up and down in excitement at their latest success. The moon sways with the night, dancing its way between the stars as it moves west. 

Away from the market, it’s quiet. The world is fast asleep and other than the occasional wallop from downtown, there’s nothing that could really make a sound. Maybe the hoot of an owl, at most. For a scene so serene, this is probably my favorite part of night sales besides actually getting business. The breath of the wind passes through my hair slightly, I feel my dreads whip slightly in the neatly-packed hair tie I have them in. The ground below is soft and spotless, despite the fact that I can’t see and the lantern is almost out of oil. It’s easy to get lost in the dark, but I’ve walked this road so many times that it’s practically imprinting in my head. Nothing is so different tonight, just a few snails and lost artifacts. It suits me well. I’ve never told Willow, but-

I feel my momentum halt for a second as I walk right into something--someone. It takes me a second to register that it’s another person, considering that rarely anybody walks this way home. But as I readjust, I see them a little more clearly. She’s shorter than I am, not by much--if it were last year, she’d tower over me--but nonetheless still shorter. Her eyes are honeysuckle brown, dazed and a little confused, and I can sense that she’s lost. Her face is twisted in a panicked manner as I observe her. Something spurs in my stomach. Something’s...different about her. But what could it be? Her taste in clothing is pretty in line with Bonesborough fashion, striped tee in blue and white under a dark green jacket. The two strips of hair budding from the side of her face hang near the buttons on the chest, loosely done and a little ruffled. Nope, that’s not it. She’s got two legs, two arms, the whole deal. So then what felt so wrong about this?

“ I believe I’m lost. Can you, uh, I don’t know, help me navigate this place? Maybe find the door back to my realm?” Realm? She’s not from around here. We rarely get visitors. Is that it? I scan her features again, brown eyes, quaint nose, round ears, short-

I gasp at the realization. She’s human.


End file.
